Magical Midlife Invasion

by Breene, K. F.

  “From the front room window, actually. It is the easiest way to know what you are up to without having to ask.”

  Austin was staring again. I had a feeling this was not the way he planned to run his pack.

  “I’ll grab it when I get back.” I motioned Austin down the walkway.

  “I think you’ll want to read it, miss. It’s from your mother. She wants to come visit.”

  I froze, only one step having been taken. “What do you mean she wants to come visit? How— Did you read my mail?”

  “What an amazing singing range you must have, miss, with the vocal pitch of that last question.” Mr. Tom sniffed. “I merely scanned the contents to ensure it was not a death threat. After that note from Elliot Graves, I thought it best to start monitoring your mail to ensure none of the messages posed an immediate danger. Magical people can be unhinged…”

  “He would know,” Austin murmured.

  “I also feared a bill or request for money might arrive and go ignored. Sometimes our past lives can come back to haunt us. Since you seem pretty hands-off about monetary matters…”

  I dropped my mouth open, about to explode. Hands-off? I always tried to pay for things, but whenever Mr. Tom was around, and he was always around, he would literally push me aside in his haste to take care of the tab. I had no idea what kind of money was available to the estate because he refused to show me any statements or give me access to the bank accounts that were now supposedly mine, simply telling me the estate paid for itself. I wasn’t sure what sort of hands-on approach would get me any further.

  I swallowed down my annoyance and reached for the envelope. I didn’t feel like getting into it with him in front of Austin. “No, Mr. Tom, I don’t have any creditors looking to get paid,” I said dryly.

  “Fantastic, miss. But you do have two parents who wish to see what you are up to. I shall roll out the red carpet.”

  I’d barely lifted the letter from the tray when he turned back into the house and closed the door behind him, not responding to my shouted denial that they were coming.

  “Oh, and miss…” Mr. Tom stuck his head out of the door again. “They’ll be staying a week, or maybe two. Their toilet broke and flooded part of the house. Your mother launched into a rant about the lack of fiber in your father’s diet, but you can read that yourself. They are scheduled to get here in three days’ time. I’ll pick up the essentials. Have fun. I’ll alert those on bodyguard detail that you’re leaving.”

  The door closed again with a soft click.

  My parents were coming.

  My non-magical parents were coming to a magical house.

  How the hell was I supposed to keep what I was a secret?

  Two

  “Do your parents usually write letters to communicate instead of calling?” Austin asked as we set out toward town.

  I’d skimmed the letter, shaken my head at the detailed fiber assessment, and stuffed it into my back pocket. Mr. Tom had gotten the details correct. They were definitely coming. The letter had been more of a statement of intent than a request.

  “Here…” Niamh sat forward in her porch rocking chair as we passed, her thumb and forefinger curled around a rock. “What are ye at?”

  “Headed into town,” Austin called.

  She leaned back and continued rocking. “Let me know when ye head to the bar.”

  The prospect of my parents’ upcoming visit had sent my thoughts into a downward spiral, and when I turned and looked back at Ivy House, I tried to see it as they would. An unnatural, heavy shadow fell over the massive structure, just like always, and light perpetually glowed from the top window in the attic even though that light was never on. Before my parents even got to the house, the judgments would start. I could just hear them now.

  “Honey, why did you choose such a gloomy house?” my mother would ask, looking up at it.

  “It’s fine,” my father would say. “The paint is the problem. You need a new coat of paint, Jessie. Maybe an off-white. You should’ve stained it, but that ship has sailed.”

  “Paint wouldn’t do it, Pete. It’s just so…dark…” my mom would reply.

  That would start them arguing about the best way to fix what wasn’t actually broken. As if they didn’t live in a house of horrors filled with dozens of unfinished projects, including a partial coat of turd-brown paint near the stairs.

  “They do write letters instead of calling, yes,” I said, belatedly remembering that Austin had asked a question. “But only when they want to make it impossible for me to turn them down. My mom typically times it so the letter arrives the day before they do. If I try to cancel, she gives me a guilt trip about how she’s already planned her whole life around this thing, and if I couldn’t do it, why did I wait until the last minute to let her know? The whole situation used to drive Matt nuts. Matt’s the ex.”

  He nodded, clearly remembering the name. “Not you?”

  “Obviously it drives me nuts, yeah. But, I mean…they’re my parents. What am I supposed to do? When I need something, I can always count on them.”

  “Do Matt’s parents not have any idiosyncrasies?”

  “They do, but he didn’t seem too put out by them. I was, absolutely, but not him. They’re these really WASP-y socialites, so they had parties and dinners and things where I’d have to bring homemade dishes that were up to their standards, dress a certain way, and when it was our turn to host?” I shivered just thinking about it. “There were a lot of rules. Keeping up with the Joneses type of stuff. It got exhausting.”

  “Your parents aren’t like that?”

  I snorted. “Matt’s parents could barely tolerate my family. My mom would show up to one of their fancy cocktail parties wearing some sort of Mary Poppins carpet dress. You know, like the material Mary Poppins’s bag was made out of? That, but fashioned into a dress. My dad would wear jeans, cowboy boots, and one of those cowboy blazers with patches on the elbows. This in a room full of fancy cocktail dresses and high-powered Armani suits. They did not fit in.”

  Austin chuckled as we reached the end of the street. “Your parents will fit in around here, at least.”

  A wave of anxiety washed over me, the familiar urge to run home and clean everything almost overwhelming. I needed to get the beer they liked, the snacks they had to have—

  “A TV!” I grabbed Austin’s arm and stopped at the corner. Confusion stole over his expression. “I need a TV! And cable! My father cannot live without his TV.”

  A grin pulled at his lush lips, enhancing his attractiveness. My stomach flipped. The guy was a looker, there were no two ways about it. It got distracting at times.

  “I have a TV you can use,” he said. “I’ll bring it by later.”

  I started walking again. “I can just have Mr. Tom go out and buy one. He’ll bitch, but…”

  “This way…” He pointed right, to a street before the main drag.

  “Why are they visiting?” I mumbled. “I mean, I know why they are visiting—they have to get out of the house and they have no choice, but why me? Why not Chris?”

  “Who’s Chris?” Austin asked.

  “My brother.” I bit my lip. “They probably didn’t want to fly. Dang it, I should’ve chosen another house, much farther away.”

  “Are they a nightmare, or…”

  An older man and woman I’d seen around town walked toward us on the sidewalk, out for a stroll. Austin’s arm came around me and his hand touched down on the indent of my waist, right above the swell of my hip. His heat soaked through my shirt and into my skin. A zip of electricity coursed through my body, followed by a rush of adrenaline. I shivered as he applied pressure, directing me in front of him on the sidewalk to let the others pass.

  The man and woman both nodded in hello. “Alpha,” they said, one after the other. “Jessie.” Their smiles were so wide that their eyes crinkled.

  “I don’t remember meeting them,” I whispered as Austin’s hand drifted away, taking the heat with it. I sh
ivered again at the sudden chill in its wake.

  “Everyone around here knows who you are. The magical people, anyway. Magical people keep their eyes on dangerous things.”

  My face heated and I wanted to come up with an offhanded remark to deflect being called dangerous, but the news about my parents had put me off my game.

  “Have you had to fight anyone to retain your alpha title?” I asked as a distraction, coming up on a dentist’s office.

  “No one I wouldn’t have had to subdue anyway. Outsiders with too much liquor trying to stir up trouble.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s pretty standard fare for a bar.”

  “Not my bar.” He motioned for me to cross the street, then directed me through a little alley between two businesses run out of converted houses. No dumpsters loitered along the way, and there was no trash blowing across the ground like urban tumbleweeds. This town, small and cute and clean, was nothing like the haunts I’d gotten used to in L.A. The change of pace was nice. I hoped my parents wouldn’t bitch that it was boring. You just never knew with them.

  Halfway through the alley, the space opened up, showing the rear of a business situated on the main drag. I spied Jasper at the street corner. Gargoyles could blend into their environment, especially if the surfaces contained stone or rock, rendering themselves invisible, but I’d learned how to magically strip away their camouflage. So I could see Jasper’s deep gray gargoyle form, threaded through with tan and brown. He was one of three gargoyles who lived in Ivy House—a strong and silent type who’d proven excellent at guarding my back while keeping just enough distance to allow me my privacy.

  It was more than I could say for the small collection of gargoyles who’d become long-term guests at a hotel in town. Around a dozen of them had answered my magical summons, but I’d already gotten rid of the guys obviously not cut out for the role, and one guy had left of his own accord. He couldn’t handle Niamh picking on him for his lack of hygiene. The remaining six were still auditioning for permanent roles in Ivy House.

  Jasper nodded at me in greeting, glanced at Austin, and then turned back to the street. He would guard our front, trusting Austin to guard the rear.

  “Jasper found us,” I told Austin, slowing with him.

  “I know. I smelled him.” Austin led the way into what was essentially a small business’s backyard. He checked out the dumpster positioned against the fence on the far side, separating this space with the business next door. A pile of empty wine boxes, and a wine barrel standing on end, sat near a set of three steps leading to a back door. Obviously this was the back of a tasting room, this area of the world being big on wine.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked, clasping my hands behind my back and watching his movements, my gaze only occasionally snagging on the play of muscle across his back and his tight, well-shaped butt. I was getting better at not staring.

  “The actual winemaking for this winery happens at their country estate, about half an hour away. They grow most of the grapes they use.”

  “All of the wineries in town make the actual wines elsewhere.” I tilted my head to read the name on the side of one of the boxes, very familiar with the wineries in town. I grimaced. This one wasn’t great.

  “There isn’t much room back here for a gathering of any kind.”

  I frowned at the small space, the gravel crunching under my feet and a dark stain near the dumpster making my nose curl. “It isn’t a place I’d like to hang out even if there was space.”

  “What if it were spruced up a little?” He stopped in the center and put out his hands, then squinted up at the sky, getting a full dose of sun on his face. “A few people could hang out back here.”

  “Next to the dumpster? Are you planning a party or something? Why not just have it in your bar?”

  He lowered his face and hands, gave the space another look, and then motioned me toward the front, the busiest strip of businesses in the town. A woman in her twenties caught sight of me emerging from around the corner. When she noticed Austin behind me, her face turned red and delighted surprise flashed in her eyes.

  “Hi, alpha,” she gushed.

  “Alpha.” A man behind the woman nodded before stepping into the street around her, avoiding the temporary traffic jam.

  “Alpha,” someone said across the street, putting up his hand to wave.

  Austin ignored them all, staring straight ahead and resting a hand on the small of my back. “Just here, Jess.”

  He directed me up the stairs before reaching around me to grab the door handle.

  “It always weirds me out when you don’t acknowledge the people saying hi to you,” I murmured, entering the tasting room. “Are we day drinking? Because with the news that my parents are coming, I could definitely get behind that. I’d prefer a different winery, though.”

  “They’re acknowledging me to show respect for my position, and if I reciprocated, I’d do nothing but greet people whenever I went into town.”

  “What do Janes and Dicks think of people calling you alpha?”

  “I don’t care. What do you think of this setup?” He gestured around the spacious tasting room, sparse in furniture and plentiful in dead space.

  I huffed out a laugh at his response before glancing around. I’d been here before, but I hadn’t paid much attention.

  “What are they expecting, huge crowds to pack in here?” I whispered, knowing someone would pop out to wait on us at any moment.

  He didn’t control his volume. “In the busy season, there are enough tourists to fill the place, but I’ve heard it doesn’t typically happen.” He didn’t move toward the counter.

  I didn’t wait for him. “Right. So why all the space? Why not add in a few high tables without chairs and maybe a little display area to sell wine paraphernalia? Is this place even open? Where’s the pourer?”

  “Hmm.” Austin finally joined me, leaning against the counter as a woman with a pinched face and an air of smug importance drifted up to the counter. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and her failure to recognize or acknowledge Austin meant she was probably new to the area. Even non-magical people knew the scary, standoffish bar owner of the Paddy Wagon.

  “Welcome.” She laid her hand, her pink nails perfectly rounded, on a cream-colored piece of paper to my right. Several similar menus lay across the stretch of counter. “We have two options for tastings. The regular flight, where you can choose five wines, is ten dollars, and the reserve tasting is fifteen dollars. If you buy two bottles or more, the tasting fee is waived. Which would you prefer?”

  I glanced at Austin. “What’s happening here? Are we doing a wine tour? Because if this is your way of getting me out of meetings with Edgar, then we just became best friends.”

  He smiled, pulling one of the papers closer. “It’s up to you. What do you want, the reserve tasting? One of each?”

  I nodded at the woman. “One of each. If we’re going to do this thing, we’ll do it right.”

  Her deadpan stare said she didn’t appreciate my nonchalant humor. “Would you like to start with white?”

  As Austin looked on, I chose a wine from each list. She sniffed and turned to grab the bottles from the coolers at the far right.

  “Out of all the winery options, you chose this one, huh?” I asked, tapping my fingers against the counter. “Oh, this town carries Pabst Blue Ribbon, doesn’t it? My father likes Pabst. If I don’t have it, he’ll just send my mom looking for it.”

  “Of all the tasting rooms on this strip, this one gets the least foot traffic,” Austin said as the woman screwed off a cap. The other had a cork, and she set to work. “The tasting room is upscale, though, and the operations at the winery look good.”

  “You’ve been to the winery? Are you sizing up your competition or something?”

  “No. I’m looking to buy it.”

  The needle screeched off the spinning record in my mind. “What’s that now?”

  Glasses clinked as the woman placed
them in front of us. She explained the wines as she poured, but I wasn’t listening.

  “You’re thinking of buying a winery?” I whispered as soon as she drifted away.

  “Yes.” He swirled the contents in his glass and lifted it to sip. I watched his lips press against the glass, my mind struggling to compute the enormity of what he was saying versus the easy, unconcerned quality of his tone.

  “How do you have that kind of money? I mean…” I blinked a couple of times and shook my head. “Sorry, that was rude, but… To buy a winery, you’re talking millions. Right?”

  His face scrunched up. He held out the glass for me. “It’s tart.”

  I took it without comment and sipped, not prepared.

  “Oh, man.” I lowered the glass to the counter, my right eye shutting of its own volition and my mouth puckering at the sourness. “That wine is intense, and not in a drinkable sort of way.”

  “I’m from a long line of alphas,” he said, as though that explained something.

  I lifted my glass and swirled good and proper, running the liquid around the glass to get as much oxygen in there as possible. It would help the flavor, and this place needed all the help it could get. I didn’t remember it being this bad. Or maybe it was just the pick I’d made for Austin. I raised the glass and took a cautious sip.

  “Ugh.” I coughed a bit as my face twisted involuntarily. “It wasn’t just the first one. This one is intense, too.” I pushed the glass his way. “What does being from a line of alphas have to do with buying a winery?”

  “Can we have the next samples, please?” Austin asked the woman, and though the phrase seemed like a polite request, his tone conveyed a command for obedience. He pointed to the ones he wanted, two reds. The woman’s previous methodical, unhurried gliding fell away, and she quickly got to work opening the next bottles.

  “I’m assuming you don’t care what ends up in your glass?” he asked me, his voice back to calm and breezy.

  “I do, but in this case I’m not sure it’ll really matter.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t remember the wine being this bad.”